


Camouflage

by justlikepagliaccis



Category: The Who (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing, Fluff with bits of angst, Insecure Pete, M/M, Supportive John, soft!pete, sorta ooc, tw: some slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikepagliaccis/pseuds/justlikepagliaccis
Summary: Some nights, it was just easier to blend in with the crowd. There was comfort in the makeup and dresses; in the beauty of being hidden in plain sight. Nights like these, Pete truly felt like himself.
Relationships: John Entwistle/Pete Townshend
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Camouflage

**Author's Note:**

> This all came to fruition thanks to a quote I read recently about Pete not identifying with any particular gender. Of course, this is entirely fantasy – so if you don't like, please don't read. But to those of you who did read, thank you!
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> – adeleine

"What do you think?" Pete asked, placing a hand on his hip and batting heavily made-up eyes almost bashfully. 

It had taken him almost an hour to get ready, part of that being the nerves that caused his fingers to shake each time he met John's gaze in the vanity mirror. But he still looked beautiful. 

Pete's eyes were framed with mascara and winged eyeliner, making them appear larger and bluer in the muted light of the bedroom. There was a subtle dusting of rouge along the contours of his face, sharpening his cheekbones into handsome angles. 

The frock he wore was fairly plain, a navy blue with a simple floral pattern – the most that they could afford after buying the expensive makeup. He fiddled with one of the buttons that lined the front, looking frail even in the smallest size the store had. Dolled up like this, Pete could pass for a woman. 

John was seated on his bed, face unreadable as he took in the sight of Pete before him. He waited long enough for Pete to fidget with nerves, ducking his head and smoothing out the wrinkles crinkling his skirt. It was supposed to be a simple outing to a pub downtown, and John hadn't expected him to go all out. Yet Pete had, still managing to pull it off. John rose to his feet, approaching Pete with all the grace of a prowling animal hunting its prey. 

Frozen with a mix of anxiety and lust, Pete could only watch as John lifted a hand to cup his cheek. He was careful not to smear the powder there, his fingertips feather-light and strong at the same time. Their lips met for a brief press before John pulled away entirely, taking pleasure in the way Pete's body instinctively followed his for more contact. 

He smirked, saying nothing. 

Walking close together under the guise of bracing for oncoming winds, the pair was silent. Pete glanced at him every so often, trying to gauge him no doubt. John wouldn't let any obvious emotion cross his features long enough for Pete to study, choosing instead to keep a steady hand at the small of his back, leading him forward. 

The simple, platonic touches were all that would pass in public, and John was never one to be satisfied with just the occasional shoulder pat or knuckle brush. 

He surveyed the dark street around them, checking for any passersby. There was a lone couple on the adjacent street, though they seemed immersed in their own world. John smoothly slid his hand down to grope his bum, smirking to himself at the indignant squeak of protest Pete gave. Just as quick as it came, his hand disappeared. Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed Pete finger the buttons of his dress, restlessly sweeping his hands over the fabric, obviously unused to the feeling. 

"You aren't taking us to the pub, are you?" Pete said after they'd passed by several bars with no signs of stopping. John sensed a bit of impatience in his tone, probably due to his teasing. He caught Pete's wrist mid-swing to direct him down an alley in a sharp left. "John," Pete cried, stumbling over his own feet and scuffing his platforms on the asphalt. "John, you dick, I just bought those!" 

John steadied him with firm hands along Pete's sides, calming him down almost immediately. 

"Birdie," he teased, relishing in the pure, glassy-eyed want that contorted Pete's face. His eyebrows were furrowed in what could be described as pain, but John knew him long enough to identify an overdramatic strop in the making. "I had a surprise in mind. Can you wait a little longer for me?" 

Any hesitancy was washed away with a few searing kisses, melting Pete into putty. His cheeks grew darker as he slumped against John's sturdy form. 

John curled an arm around Pete's shoulders, fulfilling both of their needs to stay close to one another so long as the walls of the alley protected Pete's modesty. If anyone snuck up on them, they'd see John before Pete, giving him time to hide if need be. As if acutely aware of this, Pete pressed closer and practically burrowed into John's black and yellow checkered jacket, folding his lanky arms up to fit properly. 

The trek only lasted a few minutes more as they popped out the back of the alley and between another row of flats into a park. It wasn't much, just a little playground for the local kids. 

An abandoned swing rattled in the cool breeze, knocking against the metal supports in a steady beat much akin to that of a church bell. There was a slide much too tiny for either of them, and a few teeter-totters left unbalanced and askew at odd angles. John's spur-of-the-moment idea was suddenly laughable, he rubbed the back of his neck and awaited Pete's verdict. 

"How'd you know?" Pete whispered. 

"How'd I know what?" 

"Shut up. You knew I hung around here with my friends as a kid." He inspected his old stomping grounds with a careful eye, digging his heels into the black top. 

If John was honest, he couldn't imagine a seven-year-old Pete running around with a rowdy bunch of boys. 

At times, he found it hard to believe Pete wasn't born a six-foot-tall, pretentious nose on a stick. John had been with Pete since art school, and he hadn't changed one bit. Still the same bitchy, dramatic, awkward Pete that had never really found his true place anywhere. John wondered if Pete ever found a home within a friend group as a child. 

With a sick feeling, he realized that Pete learned how to be an outcast early. He hadn't ever belonged. 

Pete was staring at the swings as if they'd personally wronged him, looking the part of a mournful starlet. John regretted ever changing his mind, cursing himself for not just heading to the pub as they normally did on Saturday nights. 

"We don't have to do this. It was a stupid idea. 'm sorry I dragged you out here." John wasn't sure what to make of the situation, already treading in dangerous waters. 

An emotional Pete was, by default, an angry one. It had taken John years to slip past Pete's defenses, to find himself as the only person that knew about the makeup. The clothes. He was Pete's first boyfriend. This was a new trust that Pete was surely waiting for John to break. 

Pete didn't seem to hear his apology, choosing to stalk over to the swings. He picked a particular seat – the third from the right – and gingerly plopped onto the wooden plank. "I thought they were my friends, anyway," Pete murmured, almost as if he was talking to himself. "They knocked me out and just started kicking me. Beat me 'til my nose went bloody. Called me a fairy." 

When no other explanation was forthcoming, John sauntered over and fit himself into a swing next to Pete. He offered quiet comfort, letting Pete wear himself out with his rant until he was slumped over tiredly. A streak of mascara ran a quick trail down his cheek. Pete smeared it away with his hand, staining his palm black. 

John fished out a cig from his jacket pocket and lit up, taking a drag and passing it over to Pete. He eagerly accepted, snatching the cigarette away and sucking it down in minutes. 

Shaking his head in amusement, John gave him a shove. "Git, I only have half a pack left." 

Pete's light body easily flew in the opposite direction, no matter how gentle John tried to be. 

He yelped in surprise, hands grappling for the chain-linked supports. Once he righted himself, Pete was laughing. Genuine, belly laughs that made him positively glow in the light of the dim street lamps. Using his feet for leverage, Pete pushed himself towards John. They knocked together, John barely moved while Pete bounced off of him and flew in the opposite direction. 

Catching him the second time around, John grabbed ahold of the chain to steady Pete, nearly giving him whiplash in the process. He came back giggling, muffling his noises from beneath a cupped palm. It was so uncharacteristically sweet that John was taken aback. If he ever found out the names of the kids that humiliate Pete enough for him to build this many walls to hide his truest self, John wouldn't hesitate in tracking them down to give them a public humiliation of their own. 

It was true, the first time John met Pete, he did come off as a bit of a prick. He just needed some getting used to. What had sounded like pretentious flaunting of knowledge and experience was really just another false layer of Pete's personality, constructed to protect himself. In actuality, he was an insecure being prone to his fits like anyone else. 

As long as John was around, Pete didn't have to worry about hiding himself away. He'd gladly deck any twat who wanted to get mouthy about Pete. This knowledge was enough to give Pete the confidence to walk around in public all dolled up, and John didn't deny the pride that bubbled in his chest at the sight. 

"You're beautiful, Pete," John murmured, finding Pete's eyes in the dark. He cautiously reached for Pete's hand, clasping it in his own and swinging their entwined fingers playfully. 

"Hey! You bloody teenagers better get off my property! I'll not have you soiling the place with your filthy ways!" An older man was standing just outside his backdoor, wrapped up in a nightgown and fiddling with his torch.

Pete sent John a panicked look, terrified of being discovered. It was clear that he assumed that Pete was a girl, but he'd soon change his tune if he ever got the torch lit. John grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. 

"Go!" He hissed, nudging Pete forward to give him a head start. Pete took off immediately, zig-zagging around the street lamps and concealing his face from the prying eyes of any residents. John watched in awe for a moment, entranced by those long, slender legs. 

"Oh, I'll call the police on you, cheeky bugger!" Cried the old man. 

John realized that his ogling had been mistaken for insolence and didn't waste another second as he took off across the playground, his boots hampering any sort of speed. Fortunately, John made it out before anyone could recognize him. 

He met Pete in a nearby alley, panting and smiling all at once. In that instance, they were foolish teenagers, drunk in love and invincible. 

"Fuck," Pete said, laughing. "Fuck, he's gonna hunt us down, isn't he?" 

"Wouldn't make the trip before keeling over," John replied dryly. His cheeks hurt from grinning so much and he felt light-headed. He hadn't ever felt this happy in... God, how many years again? 

Once their high-spirits had waned and come down to earth, Pete appeared pensive. He frowned as if uncertain. "You think I'm beautiful?" 

John didn't know how to answer. In all honesty, it had just slipped. Pete had looked beautiful with the pale moonlight shrouding him in an ethereal glow. He was baring a wide, sublimely happy smile at John and John only, and how could he possibly think that the creature before him wasn't gorgeous?

He outstretched a large hand, carding his fingers through Pete's wind-blown hair and smoothing his bangs back. "Of course, love. Could stare at you all day." John's voice was rough with a sentiment he was unused to, rubbing his thumb around the shell of Pete's ear nervously. 

Pete's cheeks bloomed pink as he ducked his head. "It's all... messy." He gestured towards his smeared eye makeup, his tousled hair. "It's just as well. I wouldn't make a convincing girl, anyway." 

Instantly, John regretted keeping his thoughts to himself. Pete needed the validation desperately, especially coming from him. His heart warmed at the thought of Pete caring so much about his opinion. 

"You're fucking stunning with and without makeup. A pretty little girl," he paused to drag his fingers down the column of Pete's neck to his chest, where breasts would be. "And a bloody handsome man." John slid his hand back up to cup Pete's jaw, pulling him into a fierce kiss. 

Pete groaned low in his throat, obviously thoroughly convinced. 

"Now let's hurry home, shall we? 'm dyin' to show you how beautiful I think you are," John growled, securing a protective arm around Pete's waist to walk him out of the alley. 

The next time they went out, Pete drew plenty of eyes with ruby red lipstick and a top that shimmered in the light like a thousand little stars. John stood tall and proud beside him, whispering his praise between breaths as they spun around on the dance floor. He'd protect Pete's newfound confidence so long as Pete trusted him enough to do so. 

FIN.


End file.
